


Maybe Next Year

by RubyLipsStarryEyes



Series: Nobody Really Wins a War [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Grieving, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 02:25:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21245963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyLipsStarryEyes/pseuds/RubyLipsStarryEyes





	Maybe Next Year

The world was silent in the way only snow can achieve. The muffled, muted colors and sounds all faded into each other, and the crunch of her footsteps on the sidewalk fell on deaf ears. Her black shoes were stark against the pure, untouched snow; her vivid red hair danced around her shoulders like a flame. The tears that slid down her pink cheeks fell, sparkling like diamonds in the dark. 

Her heart was shattered, the pain in her chest overwhelming. Each step took everything she had. The strength in her veins pushed her on, whispered to her to keep going. There was nothing she could do now. Nothing but grieve. 

She could only grieve what had been and what could have been. The memories with him, the hopes and dreams that included him. He had been bigger than life; she had never considered that one day she would be walking down this road knowing that he never would again. 

Her hands were shaking, her breaths coming in short puffs that hovered before her. The power of her blood could only take her so far, and this is where it reached its tether. She reached out for the wrought-iron gate, her gloved hand sliding down the twisted metal as her knees hit the frozen ground. 

At last, a strangled sob escaped her lips. Her tears fell faster, freezing as they drained through the snowflakes coating the earth. She’d made it this far. Why couldn’t she take the last steps? 

But she knew the answer. She didn’t want to see his name carved in stone, to think of his body beneath the frozen grass, to know that it really was final. She didn’t want to say the words. She wanted to go back to the warmth of the house, to be greeted by his smile and open arms. Because they were still there, in a way. Most people couldn’t tell them apart anyway; but she always could. 

She knew she would never roll her eyes at his jokes or watch his eyes light up when she lost her temper. He was gone. 

“Ginny... “ A pair of hands came around her shoulders. “You don’t have to do this alone.” 

She looked up into hazel eyes. His eyes. His face. 

“George how do you do it?” She sobbed, clutching at the knit sweater with a big orange “G” dominating his chest.

“I don’t.” His voice broke. “I still haven’t gotten past here.” 

“I don’t want to. I don’t want to see it.” 

“I don’t either.”  
So they stood together, outside the gate. They held to each other, each clutching the other hoping to find the strength to move forward. 

“Maybe next year,” she whispered. “Maybe next year we can tell him Happy Christmas from us and the kids.”

“Maybe next year,” George echoed. They turned, and together made their way slowly back to The Burrow, where Harry and Angelina waited with their kids and their spouses. It had been almost 40 years, and she was sure the next year they would say the same.

“Maybe next year.”


End file.
